A Sleeve is a Silly Place for a Heart
by Chariline
Summary: library!AU: not exactly USUK, but might be. Talk of the town and well-liked librarian Arthur Kirkland finds a new patron in the building after-hours, a man he's never seen before, and he seems to be troubled.


The Newport Library was well-known for its lack of crime and various forms of it, specifically vandalism. As a result, it was a spot frequented by true readers and appreciators of fine literature to rest their world-weary minds. Perhaps, though, the majority of the people came for the librarian who kept the building and its patrons in line. He was certainly a marvel in the eye of the general public: foreign, well-mannered, well-to-do - yet, he worked just as the rest of them did. Newport's "gossiping gals" had determined, through a careful and tedious process of information-gathering, that the man had had a falling out with his controlling father (a French chef whose current wife was an exotic, dark-skinned model) and moved to America from England - a huge step down in the eyes of nearly everyone in the small town.

This librarian, Arthur Kirkland, was a soft-spoken man with intelligent green eyes and sandy-blond hair that was in a state of constant bed head. He frequently strolled the tall rows of novels on the lookout for any suspicious activity - the type, he was unsure of, but check for it he would. If he wasn't keeping order with his calm demeanor and iron fist, Mr. Kirkland would be behind his desk, reading or working at his computer, always typing, typing, typing. Sometimes young ladies would go up to check out a novel and end up talking to him, nearly flirting, in an effort to persuade him to abandon his dusty old library for a night out on the town, preferably with one of them. Mr. Kirkland would smile, nod, and be as polite as possible while promising nothing to the girls; this had prompted inquiries about his age, the answer to which was that he was twenty-eight years old, though he looked to be more in his early twenties. Overall, however, he was mild-mannered but firm, the perfect gentleman.

One particularly busy day found Mr. Kirkland pacing the building more than he usually did; it was nearing the end of the working day for him and, as much as he disliked having to remove his patrons from their novels, they had to return home and so did he. On his final walk around after having checked out Miss Vargas (one half of a set of female twins; she was as sweet-tempered as her sister was rude), Mr. Kirkland came across a man tucked into the back corner, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against a bookshelf and his knees drawn up, a book resting on them as he read. The librarian paused. Should he disturb what appeared to be such an avid reader? The man didn't look familiar. Perhaps he could make polite conversation first and then dismiss him? Yes, that was easily the best course of action to take. He stepped forward, but the man did not look up. "Hello," he said, quietly, but not so much so that he could go unheard.

The man stirred lightly; his eyes flickered upward and Mr. Kirkland caught a flash of purest blue. The man returned his eyes to the words. "Hello," he replied, the greeting tilting at an unsure angle from his lips.

Mr. Kirkland was not sure how to reply to such an unresponsive person. He took another step forward and the man came into better lighting: the librarian was now able to see that he had corn-silk-blond hair and wore glasses, possessed a fit body that was dressed in jeans, a simple shirt, and a bomber jacket. "May I ask your name?" he inquired, squatting down to be level with the stranger's face. Hopefully he wasn't dangerous.

"Alfred," he answered, eyes no longer moving in the act of reading but instead remaining stationary on the page.

"Well then, hello Alfred. I'm Arthur Kirkland, it's nice to meet you." Arthur smiled and held out his hand, hoping for a glance upwards and a brief handshake. After a minute without response, however, Arthur withdrew his hand and his smile slipped from pleasant to slightly strained. "What are you reading?"

Silence. Alfred wasn't reading anymore; his eyes had stopped moving a while ago. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," he whispered, as if too much noise would be disruptive in an empty library. There was something wrong and it was easy to see; easy to feel if one was empathetic enough.

Arthur was such an empathetic person; he could feel the deep hollow around the other man, around this Alfred, but he chose to ignore it and deal with logic over feelings. "Come with me and I'll check that book out for you. Then you can bring it home and read it on your own time," Arthur advised, standing and once again offering his hand, though this time to help him stand. "Come along, Alfred."

Surprisingly, Alfred looked up and nodded once as assent. He carefully closed the book and gripped Arthur's hand, pulling himself to his feet. Once the man was standing, the librarian took a good look at him. The eyes were empty but for a flicker of something unidentifiable at their lake-like base. It was hard to see him properly in the dim lighting of the back corner. Arthur frowned and led the man towards his desk, still holding his hand. Alfred was gripping it too tightly for him to have any hopes of it being released along the way. When they reached the desk, Arthur stopped, and Alfred let go of his hand, mumbling an apology for its mistreatment. "It's alright, don't worry," he waved it off while hiding the now-throbbing hand from sight. "Let me card your book into the system and then it can be yours for three weeks. How does that sound?"

Mutely, Alfred handed over the volume. Arthur turned it over in his hands, wondering why he had chosen the oldest volume. It felt heavy in Arthur's hands, weighed down with knowledge and the memory of those who had once loved it. Refraining from letting loose a sigh, the librarian pulled out a card from the small box of them on his desk and wrote down the book's information and the one name he had been given: Alfred.

Almost as soon as he thought the name, he heard its owner speak. "Why don't you scan it?"

Arthur glanced up at the man, hiding surprise at the fact that he had spoken without being asked a question first. Finishing up the card and filing it away appropriately, the librarian handed Alfred the book and answered, "I prefer the old-fashioned way for my own reasons." He paused, giving the man a moment to ask those reasons if he wanted to. When he continued to stand there silently, Arthur stood and prepared himself to dismiss Alfred. He was beginning to wonder if the patron was all there in his head. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I do need to be getting home, and I am certain the same applies to you. Enjoy your - "

But the word "book" was lost when Alfred interrupted. "I can't go home."

Arthur paused, torn between irritation at being interrupted and concern for the man. "And why is that?" he chose to ask after a moment of deliberation, opting for the caring question with a hint of the irritation lingering around its edges. In all honesty, Arthur wanted to go home; the quiet of his solitary apartment was beckoning him with a silent siren's song. The smooth leather couch, the television and cabinet of films, the tea kettle gleaming on the stove… Arthur felt relaxed thinking about it. So engrossed in these thoughts, was he, that he did not notice Alfred's countenance pale; he did not catch the increased trembling in his fingers or the way he clutched the novel as if it were a lifeline.

Alfred was shaking his head and keeping his eyes steadily trained on the floor when Arthur looked up again. The librarian frowned and looked closer; the light was better here and he could see that Alfred looked more like a boy than a man. It would be safe for him to guess that Alfred was around eighteen or nineteen years old. This put a decade between them. Resigning himself to the nagging voice of his conscious, Arthur sighed. "Do you need a place to stay tonight, Alfred?"

The mention of his name did it: Alfred looked up, eyes shrouded in fear and insecurity; he was almost transparent in that moment. The thoughts were mostly hidden but the instinct of flight was visible in the dilated black pupils. "No," Alfred answered finally, the word seeming to leave his lips reluctantly. "I'll be fine tonight."

_I don't have a place to stay_ darted through the blue of Alfred's eyes. Arthur rolled his own green eyes at the feeble lie and moved about, packing up and giving himself time to think. Would it really be wise for him to offer his own home for Alfred to stay in? He had a spare bedroom, so it wasn't a matter of if there was _space_ for a guest: it was a matter of if he _wanted_ a guest. Alfred was a stranger, though - a hurt stranger, Arthur reminded himself. He paused after he swung the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder, coming to a conclusion he was most likely going to regret. "You can stay with me tonight," Arthur offered, steadily meeting Alfred's eyes despite the anxiety roiling in his stomach.

"No, I couldn't - "

"Nonsense," Arthur interrupted, growing impatient. Alfred was in no position to refuse and Arthur said as much. "You don't have anywhere else to go. You are not in a position to refuse. Now hurry along, I like to be home before ten and it is already half past nine." With that, Arthur turned and walked towards the door. It was only a moment before he heard Alfred's footsteps fall in line behind him, the unusual sound tickling Arthur's nerves.

Was he really doing the right thing? Arthur heaved a silent sigh as he locked the door to his library behind him. He would find out soon enough, he supposed. Leaving the negative thoughts at the door, Arthur walked down the library stairs, Alfred falling into step beside him.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry for sticking in this in the completed section because I know I left it open for a second part, or even more than just a second part, but I don't see myself working on a second part or multi-chapter fic for this any time in the near future; I have another oneshot I'm working on right now as well as the third and fourth chapters for Red Chrysanthemum. It's a lot of work, to be honest, but I like it all the same!**

**In any case, if you could please leave me a review and let me know if you like this piece, hate this piece, think I should continue, think I should hide in a cave, or tell me anything else that comes to mind, that would be lovely! :)**

**~Chari**


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